


don't you worry, child

by montecarlos



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Growing Up Together, M/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26714215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: It starts with Lando letting George borrow his crayons, and it spirals from there. George becomes his best friend, his only friend. As they grow older, they begin to realise that their lives are not as innocent and idyllic as they are supposed to be. Their lives will forever be filled with danger and death and bloodshed.
Relationships: Lando Norris/George Russell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	don't you worry, child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessrosberg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessrosberg/gifts).



> This is the first fic I've written for the F1 fandom in a long, long while, and I had to return to the mafia au that I adore so much. No additional reading is necessary as this is an origin story. Title from the song by Swedish House Mafia. This fic is for my saltmate, Emma - who loves these boys very much. Happy birthday my love! 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_  
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust - why yes, dear brother, killing is a must. The thrill up your spine when you take the light of an innocent kind. The blood in your nails that will never be washed and never be healed. The knowledge and paranoia that comes with all this…yes…all this, per la famiglia.  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ “Don’t be rude, Lando, say hello,”   
  
Lando remembers the first time that he had met George. He was six and George had just turned seven. They were innocent back then, sheltered from the monsters of their families for the most part. George was the first child that he had ever laid eyes on - he looked normal, all sandy blonde-brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. George had smiled at him, holding his hand out for Lando to shake.   
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Lando. My name is George,”   
  
Lando doesn’t shake his hand. His father pulls him over to one side and threatens to take away his favourite teddy bear. So he returns to where the seven year old is standing, his own father at his shoulder, the smile still on his face. Lando remembers the handshake, even now - how George’s hand felt warm and soft against his own. The apprehension fades away and gives way to friendship - it’s easy enough for them both to forge a strong bond - it starts with Lando letting George borrow his crayons, and it spirals from there. George becomes his best friend, his _only_ friend. As they grow older, they begin to realise that their lives are not as innocent and idyllic as they are supposed to be. Their lives will forever be filled with danger and death and bloodshed.   
  
Lando is nine and George is ten when he gets his initiation brand. He can only watch silently as George collapses onto the bed, the white shirt that he was forced to wear now covered in blood. Lando finally glimpses at the brand - all torn blackened edges and bloodied skin and he wants to cry. George stares at him through half lidded eyes, his usual smile twisted into a grimace.   
  
“You’re hurt,” Lando bites down on his lip.   
  
He’s seen his fair share of injuries by this stage, but it’s never been _George_. He wants to reach out and touch the skin, to pull George into a hug but he’s stopped by the minder who chastises him before turning his attention back to the young boy. Lando laces their fingers together and he can only watch in silence. The screams of pain and the smell of antiseptic stay with him, especially as he knows he will be next. When it comes his turn for the initiation, he dresses in a similar white shirt and he listens to his father’s speech, trying not to glance at George who is standing somewhere in the shadows. He barely remembers the rest of the ceremony, only the white-hot agony as the branding iron touches his skin and everything goes black. He wakes up a few hours later in his own bed, his shoulder and chest heavily bandaged and George staring down at him with worried eyes, their hands interlaced.   
  
It isn’t until they’re much older that Lando becomes aware of why he and George were introduced to one another when they were younger and why they’ve become a constant in each other’s lives. He knows that he is the heir to the Bratva empire, and that George will one day head up the Firm, but their friendship is built on more than those credentials. He’s fifteen when he and George finally share their first kiss after stealing a bottle of his father’s favourite wine. The kiss is everything he expects it to be as a teenager - it’s wet and sloppy and full of teeth and George tastes like expensive wine, but he doesn’t care. He trusts George with his life and he always has done.   
  
“I’m sorry,” He whispers as he pulls away, his cheeks staining red. “I shouldn’t-”   
  
“Don’t be sorry, I liked it,” George’s own tone is shy and he’s biting down on his lip, the same lip that Lando just kissed and enjoyed. “I liked it very much,”   
  
Lando just smiles and laces their fingers together. Their lips find each other again, but they can’t bring themselves to do anything else. They’re content to just find each other with gentle kisses, and Lando is later lulled to sleep by the memory of George’s little breathily sighs in his ear.   
  
His father calls him to a meeting a few days later and Lando sits in the uncomfortable chair opposite him, his eyes fixed on the large marbled blue paperweight that sits on his desk. It reminds him of George’s eyes. His father leans back in his large leather chair and surveys him with dark eyes.   
  
“It has been brought to my attention that yourself and George have become intimate,” His tone is crisp and matter of fact. Lando inclines his head minutely and waits for the inevitable speech about dishonour and bringing shame upon the family but it never arrives. His father smiles at him widely. “I am glad that you have decided that George is a suitable partner. His father and I decided when you were children that you would make an ideal match,”   
  
“What?” Lando says, his mouth dropping open. “Match for what?”   
  
“For marriage, Lando. You and George have been betrothed to one another since birth,” Ignoring Lando’s shocked expression, he continues. “But you must remain pure until then,”   
  
“But-”   
  
“There will be no negotiation on this, Lando. You must remain pure until your wedding,”   
  
“And when will that be?”   
  
“When you become of age,”   
  
And with that, the matter is closed.   
  
Lando is watched even more closely and it isn’t long before George notices the shift in his behaviour. The older boy chooses not to mention it for a few weeks - watching carefully as Lando stops cuddling with him, stops pressing gentle kisses to his forehead.   
  
“Okay, what’s going on with you?” George asks, one afternoon. His eyes lock on Lando, searching his gaze for the answers he desires. “You act like you don’t want me around anymore,”   
  
“It’s not that-” Lando begins, the words catching on his tongue. “It’s just - something my dad said,”   
  
George sighs heavily, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “What did he say now? Is it time for your first- you know?” Lando hates that he knows exactly what George is referring to - they’re expecting to have to make their first kills pretty soon, apparently it must be done before they turn sixteen. George will be sixteen in just under two months and time is running out. He glances into those dark blue eyes and he’s reminded of the paperweight that sits on his father’s desk, and of the conversation. “He said we were to be married when we are of age,”   
  
He watches George’s face fall. “W-what? They want us to marry?”   
  
Lando nods slowly. “Don’t you want to?”   
  
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Lando. I just thought that we would be free to do whatever we wanted, not to be dictated by what our fathers want us to do,”   
  
“We have a duty,” Lando says, feeling the anger grip at his chest. He thought that George would be happy about the arrangement, that he didn’t have to marry off to some random associate of his fathers. “I thought you’d be happy about it-”   
  
George sighs heavily, pinching his temples. Lando doesn’t miss his friend’s gaze at the bandages still decorating his chest, the brand beginning to peel over and heel. “I would be happy about it if it were real,”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“I mean if we actually were able to just be ourselves. Our fathers made us become friends and introduced us because they always knew that we were intended for each other, it doesn’t feel real,”   
  
Lando ignores the sting in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward, gently cupping George’s face in his hands. “ _This_ doesn’t feel real to you?”   
  
“You know what I mean, Lando,” George tries to avert his gaze but his face is held firm by Lando’s shaking hands.   
  
“You don’t feel what I feel?” Lando whispers, his thumb stroking gently over George’s cheek.   
  
George closes his eyes. “I do, but I am tired of being governed by what my father wants for me, I’m tired of him being in control of my future,”   
  
“I know,” Lando murmurs. “But what can we do to stop it?”   
  
George’s eyes flicker open, and a steely look of determination hangs over his features. “We can run away, start a new life away from all this,”   
  
“We can’t,” Lando shakes his head, feeling the tears finally bubble up. “We can’t, they’d only find us again, it’s what they’re good at. They’d kill us,”   
  
George exhales shakily. “We can, we can do it together-”   
  
Lando feels his hands slowly drop away from George’s face. “We can’t, I’m sorry-”   
  
After that, they’re never the same. George walks away from Lando’s room that night with tears on his cheeks and a dagger through his heart. His first kill ceremony is looming, and Lando knows that once it is over, that there will be no going back for the sixteen year old. He can only watch as George is groomed in preparation for the ceremony - he’s always in combat meetings, target practise, knife throwing, every single thing designed to make him lethal. Lando feels like the George that he knows and loves is slowly being taken away from him, stripped back to nothing more than a shell that knows nothing but the way of the family and of duty. He buries his feelings deep down, knowing that he will be next. After George is fully initiated into his family, Lando will certainly follow. It’s inevitable.   
  
However, on the evening of George’s first kill ceremony, he disappears from his bedroom, leaving nothing but a crumpled, tear-stained note that simply reads.   
  
_Lando, I love you and I am sorry._   
  
They search for the young sixteen year old heir for hours and Lando half expects George to return bloodied and battered, but he never does. Lando stays up until the first fingers of sunlight hit the windowpanes and the dawn begins, waiting for the sound of George’s father’s men dragging George back to the house to finish his training and finally become the man he’s been groomed to be. But the house remains silent and Lando falls into an uneasy sleep. He wakes up the next afternoon, expecting to find George back at the house but he’s still missing. Days pass, and the hope of finding George alive begins to fade and his own father’s attention soon shifts to Lando’s own killing ceremony. They make the decision that it’s better to do it sooner rather than later, in the hopes that making him kill his first man will tie him to the business forever. Lando remembers everything prior to the kill. He remembers all of the training sessions, of the time spent with his father’s men honing his skills but he doesn’t remember the actual killing ceremony. He cleans the blood off his hands and sinks into his bed, falling into a restless sleep. However, that night, the face of his victim morphs into that of George and he screams. He’s haunted by George for months after that, the older boy only appearing in his dreams all blood-stained, his dark blue eyes lifeless. But Lando tries to push the thought of his only friend away, he focuses only on becoming the best. It’s the only thing that he has left.   
  
Lando is twenty one when he steps up to the mantle left by his father. The teenager that George would have remembered has now become a man. He’s powerful and lethal. However, there are times that he stands in front of the mirror in his bedchambers and he glances at himself, at the lean muscle that had developed as a result of his training, at his now dull and emotionless eyes forged by years of grooming by his father to become what he is today. But there are times when his thoughts slip back to George and the way that they kissed one another, how safe the older boy had made him feel. He’s not been with anyone else since, and nobody ever asks Lando about if he’s planning to marry in the future. They all know that Lando’s heart was taken by George the day that he walked away from his destiny. His days are filled with endless meetings, about territory and business deals, but at night, he retires to his bedroom and dreams of George. He’s happy enough with this arrangement until one evening when he’s called from his office on an urgent call.   
  
“What was so urgent that you interrupted my meeting with Albon?” Lando sneers, only to stop at the sight in front of him. George is tied to the chair - but it’s not the George that he remembers. The teenager that Lando remembers has been replaced by a young man, his lanky and lithe body now lightly muscled, his hair grown out of the weird buzzcut that he used to have - but his eyes, the same colour as the paperweight that now inhabits Lando’s desk - have not changed at all. George doesn’t seem to have recognised his presence, still tugging against his restraints.   
  
“Let me go, please,” George pleads, his shirt has fallen down ever so slightly, showing off his family brand and his true identity. “Please,”   
  
“And why would I do that?” Lando finally pipes up, and watches with a wide smile as George stiffens against the chair, his face turning chalk white. “Did you miss me, George?”   
  
“L-Lando?” George murmurs out, his eyes wide. “Lando is that you?”   
  
Lando feels the smile tug at the corners of his lips as he steps forward, his hands reaching out to gently caress George’s cheek. “I’ve missed you, my love,”   
_  
fin. _   
  



End file.
